The Joker Diaries
by Crystallinee
Summary: A series of glimpses into the life of Joker, before and after he met Harleen Quinzel. Suicide Squad-verse. Joker x Harley/Harleen. Sexual, mature and dark themes.
1. Nothing To Lose

**The Joker Diaries**

A series of glimpses into the life of Joker, before and after he met Harley Quinn. Suicide Squad-verse. Based on Jared Leto's portrayal. Joker x Harley/Harleen. Joker-centric. Many thanks to user Cvioleta for your transcription help!  
Warning: Contains explicit descriptions of violence, smut and gore.

* * *

 **1\. Nothing To Lose**

"A cornucopia of opiates have flooded my head  
I am insane, I am smart  
All it takes is a spark to ignite my bad intentions  
And do what I do best to your heart" _  
Raised by Wolves - Falling in Reverse_

* * *

He was awake again. Sleep was tricking him, running away in front of his eyes every time he thought he would finally grasp it. He wanted to squeeze it in his hands until it gave up and took him away. Cold streams of sweat ran down his rigid body. He was sitting up with his arms between his knees, clenching his fists and grinding his teeth. A metallic grating sound floated out in the room, like rubbing two metal spoons together.

Harley always slept like a kitten at night when she thought he was asleep, completely unfazed. It only made him more frustrated that she was unaware of his agony at a time like this.

He wanted to roughly shake her awake, but couldn't find the energy to. She had a stupid dreamy smile on her face, her body curled up around one pillow the same way she usually latched onto him, as if she wanted to choke him out of love. _I should give her a new smile._ His muscles, tense as rubber bands about to snap, jerked at the sudden impulse before it drifted away. _  
_

He toyed with his favorite knife, feeling it sit in his tight grip as if it was a part of him. He let it run in patterns across his skin, dipping the tip against his scars, until tiny red drops appeared, crimson against chalk white. He closed his eyes in complete satisfaction. His knife danced faster with every stirring thought that blasted through his mind on maximum volume. Like cutting the shadows away if they dared to come too close, he stabbed them one by one.

A wide, grinning, red mouth in his mind. _Where is your smile now, pretty boy?_

He jerked forward so violently the knife all but tore right through his radial artery.

His muscles were aching but he couldn't separate his jaws enough to take a proper breath. Running empty on alcohol, he couldn't focus. Blinding images started to pile up at the horizon, invading him.

His life consisted of loose pieces; no consistency, no red thread that kept it nicely together. No beginning and no end. Like a playing deck, every single card represented one event, one person, in one way. Red cards for spilled blood and Harley, black cards for a kill. He was the Joker, the Jack and the King one day at a time.

Every separate piece made him who he was, when pieced together. They buzzed through his brain at a million miles per hour, a broken record going on and on and playing the most unbearable songs and he wanted to smash it.

One memory returned with the force of a derailed train: that certain night.

.

* * *

The body was hanging upside down, the feet tightly bound together with a rope that was attached to the ceiling. One clean cut at the throat from ear to ear had left the man bleeding out like a pig at the slaughterhouse, ready for dismembering. The blood had collected in a puddle on the concrete floor underneath his head. It was thick and drying up already, spreading across the warehouse, but the Joker was annoyed. His new boots had soaked up the fluid. Hell, those shoes weren't cheap!

He had tried to cheer himself up by cutting up the man's face, too, giving him a splendid Glasgow grin, but that didn't help much. It was an unusually boring kill.

Humans needed to fill the black void that they all felt inside of themselves, with drugs, alcohol, sex, food, or violence. Despite not feeling human, knowing he was just an _idea_ and a horrifying rumor at this point, Joker was no different. He had tried everything.

The cocaine was his favorite, but it wasn't quite enough. He didn't mind the murderous mania it brought him – nothing was funnier than dressing up like a mixture of a Bat and a Penguin and shooting into crowds - but he wanted to feel like himself at all times. The blow brought him off track.

Sex was another unsatisfying pastime. He had tried with different women; the expensive ones that were hard to find and some cheap ones, just like the other mob bosses who imported young girls for themselves. When his cock was in a warm, inviting mouth, he physically felt great, but inside he felt nothing. The flashing of their fake eyelashes or their big doe eyes as they performed fellatio just frustrated him. Several times he had reached for his gun instead, it was time for him to give _them_ head. One head less.

Some of them managed to get him to cum and when he pushed them away and saw his cum running down their chins, he was bored. He never actively sought the physical release. It was just a way to pass the time while waiting for something bigger to happen, something funny and something worthwhile.

Even his unusual killjoy had left him today; he couldn't be bothered to enjoy this. He needed to do something different, something that would set him apart from the rest of the thugs. So that no one would ever fail to recognize him.

"Boss?" Jonny Frost asked and brought him out of his thoughts. He was the newest dog Joker had picked up from the street, always ready to prove his worth and loyalty. He had proven to have a brain, and that was all that mattered.

"People are coming," Jonny informed him, one hand beneath his suit as his eyes anxiously checked the doors. "What are we gonna do?"

Joker opened his arms wide with a grin as he stepped toward the main exit. He took his time, skipping every so often.

"Let them come," he said. "It's time to rock the boat."

Giggling to himself, he stepped out into the night, with his guns firmly placed in their holsters and his knives in his pockets. He had better things to do than to play tag with the little mob bosses. Gotham was _his_. He was the executioner, the emperor, he was death and he was the world. The only one worthy of his attention was the Batman, because everyone else were simply so _boring_.

In the end, when all else failed to distract him, there was only one thing worthwhile, and that was spelled c-h-a-o-s. Overturned cars, sirens in the distance, people screaming and running for their lives, not knowing where he would strike next, and everyone cowering in fear. The imprint of a bullet in a skull.

It always put a smile on his face.

.

That night turned out to be his last, as if fate had decided to finally grant his wish. ACE Chemicals had been the nearest place to run to when Batman struck and the police closed off the streets. A planned raid, hmm, Commissioner Gordon was getting some brain cells. Finally.

ACE was a place that Joker knew well. It was almost too easy to break in undetected and climb to a safe place.

He knew that he was immortal, there was nothing that could ever bring him down. But if they caught him, and it had been a close call tonight, his empire would fall and he would have to start over again. He had seen it happen many times. Running from a fistfight with the Bat was harder than he had expected. Joker had faithfully been trying to push him, to break his rule, but still he refused.

Batsy was hovering somewhere in the tall ceiling, looking for him, waiting to bring him into a cell and force him to face himself. It couldn't end like this.

A plan formed in his head as he hid on a platform above the churning liquid. He had been there many times, just watching the chemicals move like a hellish brew.

Nothing mattered anyway.

With this thought, he dove into the chemicals.

His plan had been to stay there, holding his breath, until Batman left. But the sensation that hit him was soft, inviting. He opened his mouth and eyes, letting the acid flow into him, swallowing him up whole. Green and yellow bubbles dancing around him, heat on his skin, a complete breathless feeling. He sank deeper, feeling something loosen from his body – pieces of fabric falling away into the depths.

It was the most exhilarating thing he had ever felt. Floating bare-naked as every cell of his body soaked in chemicals.

He could stay there forever, but his lungs started screaming. He brought himself to the surface, it was shallow enough to stand.

The first breath scorched his lungs and mouth. He spat and he vomited, but he felt more weightless than ever before. His skin was corroded, bleached sickly yellow-white, his nails broken and bleeding. His scalp and eyes burned. A bubbling sound was rising from his chest, deep and shrill, hysterical laughter spilling out.

Everything in him had drowned; the memories had been corroded away from his mind, images bleaching into nothing.

He was free.

.

* * *

Another memory hit him like a shallow wave, of a certain event one year later.

It was hilariously rainy that day. Mud flowed in rivers down the street and soaked his pants as Batman pushed him down into the ground. Joker was grinning wildly, despite being manhandled so roughly by the vigilante. He was always eager to play, and Batsy didn't disappoint.

He didn't put up much resistance, pretending to be unusually docile. He didn't have the luxury of a mask keeping his sight clear, nor a glorified wetsuit protecting him.

He had not planned for it to end up this way, with his men scattered and running away like scared little dogs, but how could he complain? The heist had gone wrong, but in fact he was enjoying it: to be all alone with the Bat, before the GCPD could interfere and ruin all the fun.

Despite the pouring rain and his hair falling into his eyes, he saw the expression in the Bat's intense little eyes. He was _furious_ , and it made Joker so much more delirious. The vigilante seemed content just pressing him down into the mud and snarling. Whatever floated his boat.

"Give up. You're on your own," the rodent hissed.

"Can't really trust anyone around here," Joker agreed, grinning and flashing his teeth. "A little bird told me you're feeling alone lately. Maybe you should start hiring!"

Batsy stared at him, stone-faced like usual. Joker decided to help him out.

"What was his name again? Robert?" He cackled.

The first punch hit him square in the face and sent him down onto the ground again. Joker coughed and sat up. He had hit a tender spot, indeed, and this was going to be fun.

"You think you're getting away with that?" Batman snarled, leaning over him, spit from his words landing on his face.

"No, not at all," Joker smiled. "I'll happily take credit!"

The second blow came right across his mouth and he felt it all the way into his teeth. Joker started cackling wildly as he heard the police sirens in the distance, approaching fast, and he knew they wouldn't have much time left alone.

"Who needs a bird anyway?" he gasped, hardly aware of the pain spreading on the inside of his gums. "Bye-bye, Robin!"

With a roar, Batman jumped on top of him and pressed him back down into the mud. His large clothed fist hit Joker's face again and again, each strike more forceful than the last. Joker felt the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, filling it up and constricting his breathing. Still, it couldn't keep him from laughing.

Every time he giggled, Batsy seemed to get even more furious. His punches got harder and Joker saw stars. All he felt was wet rain, hot blood and Batsy's weight on him, pushing his back into the mud like an aggressive bull trying to mate.

"Come on!" Joker gasped, spitting the blood onto his mask. "I can take it!"

The police sirens broke through the ringing in his ears. He heard the screeching of tires, doors being forcefully shut, but Batman wouldn't stop. The police officers shouted at them.

Joker enjoyed the pain. It was heavenly, it was funny. It was so nice in this downpour, cold against his cold skin, and the weight of the overgrown rodent on top of him. It was hilarious, and he let him know that, almost choking on his laughter as the blood gushed down his throat. Something bony was left on his tongue, something sharp and hard, after another punch made his jaws collide.

Who knew he would have hit such a tender nerve? Killing the little birdie boy had just been one of many games. The little thing had been so weak, so easy to kill it wasn't even funny, just a regular flex of his muscles. Robin had put up almost no resistance at all, as if he hadn't learned anything from his mentor. The Bat was anything but easy, and that made him so much more interesting to be with. Like a tough and chewy beef Joker liked to tear apart with his teeth, piece by piece, something he had to work on.

Yes, Robin had been too easy. A strike with a crowbar and out went his life, just like that, before Joker even had time to savor all his death throes and all his little squeaks as life drained from him.

Swift kills were such anti-climaxes. He had left a bloody mess behind; a message to the Bat to find. A present, a gift if you may, to remind him.

And now this game of cat and mouse was coming to an end, as he was surrounded by the police and their drawn weapons, screaming at Batman to get off. He was caught like a fly deep down in the honey.

Finally, Batsy decided to stop trying to crush him with his weight. He jerked him upright and held him firmly with his arms twisted behind his back, almost breaking them in his forceful hold.

The Joker smiled, with blood dripping out of his mouth, spitting out two pieces of broken molars and the rest of his broken teeth on the ground.

He had made Batsy fall a little more down, and victory tasted better than fresh blood.

"What are you going to do?" he taunted. "Give me a free trip to Blackgate? Another paid vacation?"

"No," Batman growled. "You're going to Arkham."

.

.

The braces were uncomfortable, pressing onto his broken, swollen lips. It was a cheap, quick job, made by hospital personnel who would rather have liked to pull his remaining teeth out with a pair of pliers, even if they didn't get paid for it.

A large part of his body was covered with bleeding bruises, and his overexerted muscles ached every time he moved. It didn't particularly bother him. He rested on a small, hard bed in a windowless room. Bare walls and floors and a bed bolted to the wall – it was the standard for GCPD custody.

They wouldn't keep him there for much longer, but until then he would make sure the officer on duty got a single ticket to the emergency psychiatric ward. Normally that would be enough to keep his mood bright, but something else irritated him.

He was constantly distracted by his tongue, running over his bare gums in some places where new teeth would never reappear.

His beautiful teeth. His pride. His smile. The shark grin or wolfish smile that he could scare anyone with, make them cower in fear. What was he without it? It had been his signature, and Batsy had taken it all away from him. It filled him with a creeping uneasiness.

A tooth for a tooth. The irony in the whole thing was laughable.

But he was a man with a plan. Bored out of his mind and waiting for his official trial, he had acquired a pen with black ink.

He would soon be shipped off to Arkham and spend an undetermined time locked away in a straitjacket, until some of his goons would manage to get him out. And they would, sooner or later.

He could count on Jonny, but the henchman needed to assemble new people first. That could take time, because most of his henchmen were idiots, no-brainers, and they needed somebody with intact brain cells, like Jonny Frost to lead them. He had already found out that most his previous crew had been picked up by the police the night before.

With his pen in hand, he started tracing his skin. He needed to show the world what he was, and what he wasn't. He needed a new smile.

Using the needle he had stolen at the hospital, he let it dip under the skin and welcomed the ink.

.

.

* * *

Harley stirred in bed, woken up by his violent movement. He felt her small hands creeping up his back and shoulders. A part of him wanted to shove her away, right off the bed, but found no strength. He purred silently as she massaged his tired muscles and whispered meaningless, sweet words.

She traced every tattoo, every memory, every scar that bore witness to his life before her, the life he thought he had forgotten.

Incoherent, broken impulses, remaining like muscle memory. Right now someone didn't wake up from an overdose. The helicopters circled above. The psychosis, the rough asphalt, the white poison in plastic bags. Right now he was floating away on that dark wave.

His grip tightened around the handle of the knife, despite Harley's whining attempts to get his attention. He traced the bleeding spots, deepened them. Relief. It spread through him, beautiful tall red marks, like cobwebs.

He wasn't aware of how she did it, madly persistent as she was when she had her mind set on something, but she managed to pry his fingers open. She took the knife away from him, pressing a kiss to his tense neck.

At first he ignored her, until he felt the smell.

Harley opened up a wound in her palm, letting the sharp blade gyrate, penetrating it deep and good. Then she grabbed his hand, and pressed their palms together.

He was stiff, fascinated by the enthusiastic way she had stabbed herself – _that's my girl_ – and then his fingers intertwined with hers. He held her hand, just like she held his, as their shared blood dripped down on the sheets.

She looked into his eyes, locking their gazes, her breathing loud and wild and something crazed in her eyes.

Something overcame him, an incoherent feeling reminding him of pride. He placed his free hand in her messy hair, then roughly pulled her closer and kissed her hard. Her soft lips tasted of bubblegum – he forced her eager tongue back with a slight grunt, invading her mouth with his own. An electrifying sensation traveled down his back.

He was hard, and when she broke their joined grip to put both hands around his head, he pushed her onto her back with a strong snap of his hips.

He covered her completely, dominating her body with his own. She felt soft and warm against him. It reminded him of that boiling heat running across his skin as he pulled her up from the chemicals, for the first and last time, giving her life in his arms.

Jumping after her had never been a conscious choice. As if she was a magnet frantically pulling him down into the hellish vat, he has just let his body act. Now, looking up at him with her hair streaked across her forehead and patches of blood on her cheek, from his bleeding hand, she looked equally delirious.

He pulled her legs apart and entered her with one sharp thrust, gripping her wrists firmly and pinning them against the bed.

Her eyelids fluttered shut and she whimpered. She was already dripping wet. She always got something feral in her when she was, and it awakened something sinister in him. Her mouth sought his aggressively, and he pressed her down as he pumped in and out of her. He was harsher than usual, and she seemed to enjoy it.

The feeling manifested in his spine, spreading across his whole body. She was already running through his body, finding a way to sneak into his blood stream and shut down every part of him that wasn't obsessive about her. He let go of her wrists just to be able to squeeze her body.

He moved them so he was sitting on his knees with her in his lap. She was moaning loudly into the air, grasping his shoulders and leaving bloody stains on his skin.

He grunted when she clenched her body around his length, rocking back and forth. She squeezed his body with an iron grip at the same time, as if she was drowning and clinging onto him for dear life.

He snickered. _His little psychiatrist gone crazy._

Her hands were flailing around, trying to find something to hold on to and landing in his hair, messing his hair up desperately before she found his earlobe and bit down hard.

He slammed her back against the headboard with a growl, but couldn't stop the deranged smile on his face. Fucking little vixen. Her head hit the wall hard enough to knock the wind out of her. He used the distraction to capture her mouth with his and kiss her forcefully until she was gasping for oxygen.

He was ravaging her, trying to mold them to one. Every time she moved she clenched up around him around and he knew she was doing it on purpose to get back at him. She giggled in a way that tempted him to put his hand around her throat and squeeze. He pulled her back harder onto his cock.

"What do we say?" he purred into her ear, letting his teeth run down her neck.

Her entire body spasmed in his grip and her hips collided with his violently. A shiver ran through her and she moaned out loud. He almost came himself, seeing her like this and feeling her grow so tight around him. Her voice was high pitched and strained. "J!

He pushed her back against the wall, fucking her until he came within her. Harley was attached like a leech to his body and made him groan. A few moments later he pulled out of her and rolled away. She remained outspread on the bed, a crazed smile on her lips and her eyes distant.

He pulled his pants back up, ignoring the mess of their fluids and blood. He leaned back in the bed, letting his gaze rest on the bullet holes in the ceiling. Harley crawled to his side and rested her head on his arm, pressing her lips against the tattoo of the dead Robin. A sleepy giggle escaped her. He must really have fucked the living daylight out of her.

He grinned into the darkness, his body relaxed and the images in his brain slightly numbed.

There was always something to laugh about. Harley choking on her bubblegum, the weed lady in a padded cell, testing Jonny's sanity.

He slipped one arm around Harley's waist and let sleep finally catch him.

 _If I'm going to have a past, I prefer it to be multiple choice._

 _._

* * *

 _ **To be continued.** _

_**Author's note: I would very much appreciate your feedback on this!**_

 ** _Love,_**

 _ **Crystallinee.** _


	2. Lead Me, Hold Me

**A/N: Contains dub-con/mentions of non-con.  
**

* * *

 **2\. Lead Me, Hold Me  
**

"Whenever I bleed you're in pain  
We must know each other  
One body, two names  
Nothing can separate us"  
 _Führe Mich - Rammstein_

* * *

" _Can the Joker separate right from wrong? According to analyses made at Arkham Asylum by his psychiatrists, there were no voices telling him to commit his crimes. His offenses were calculated and planned months in advance. He remained lucid and had one of the best times of his life, according to testimony."_

He leaned back as a cackle slipped from his lips. Smoothing his hair back, he kept his eyes focused on the 50 inch flat screen. Prime time television was all about him, like usual. He admired the way his hair looked in the displayed mug shots.

" _Is the Joker actually sane? Is he an evil monster set apart from humanity? In our eyes he remains a psychopath – self-absorbed, ruthless and incapable of feeling guilt. Tonight's episode of "The Killer Kings" will delve into the depths of our time's most feared criminal –"_

"The one and only," he smiled to the television, annoyed at the ridiculous implication that there would be other royalty out there. He would need to have a talk with the boss at the production company.

The smell of sugar and perfume drifted across the room. Harley skipped over to him but he silenced her with a hand in the air before she had time to speak and interrupt his grand presentation. He saw her pouting in the corner of his eyes before she slipped down next to him in the leather sofa.

Joker focused on the screen and ignored her attempts at cuddling, hanging onto every word being said about him. The female narrator of the documentary was making his fingers flex into the air, aching to squeeze the air out of her throat.

 _I'm the nexus of their boring little worlds._ _What would they do without me?_

Harley had a popsicle in her mouth that she sucked with overzealous intensity as she leaned over. Her eyes drifted to the screen with not nearly enough interest, then back at him.

He accepted her snuggling up to his side as the program proceeded to talk about his crime resume, frustrated by the many events they didn't mention.

" _What causes a man like the Joker to emerge? Despite having no record of his previous whereabouts, experts are debating whether a harsh childhood can be a part of the answer –"_

He stiffened. Harley noticed his change of mood and stopped trying to mold into him, giving him a few millimeters of space.

His mouth felt uncomfortably dry as the woman on the screen proclaimed her statements:

" _New scientific records suggest that the anti social personality disorder is genetic, whereas the upbringing makes the difference between a murderer and an ordinary person. Not everyone falls into criminality – the question is, has the Joker emerged from a genetic line of psychopaths?"_

His metal teeth ground against each other and a tint of something red was caving into the edges of his vision. His body moved automatically when he snatched his gun from its holster and shot the screen enough times for the image to go blurry, then did the same thing to the speakers.

Harley stared at him with big eyes, her popsicle frozen in her mouth. She pulled it out with a pop. "Puddin'?"

He didn't spare her a glance before turning away and leaving the room.

This desperate _ana-lyz-ing._ Sad and pathetic, someone needed to put them out of their misery. Good thing he was feeling generous tonight. After picking up a few necessary weapons and explosives and ordering Frost to bring him a suitable car, he was ready.

.

.

Harley stayed on the couch, figuratively drooping her ears. He didn't want her to come? She knew he was up to something, she had felt it in the air how his mood changed, like turning on a switch. Maybe he wanted to show her something. She waited.

The answer came barely an hour later when her paramour appeared on national news. His shirt was soaked red and he had a look in his eyes that made her spontaneously jump and clap her hands. When the camera-man, obviously held hostage, zoomed out on the studio room all she saw was red. Up to his ankles, flowing out on the floor in a thick puddle - no, _river_. The news anchor's head had rolled to the side, a mess of hair attached to a lump of flesh. In the middle he was, green hair shining like a halo, grinning ear to ear.

"Say cheese for the Killer King!"

That incident was one of several that made Harley curious. Maybe it was an old part of her who had resurfaced and taken control of her again, demanding answers.

Just like Harley had put her past life behind, she always assumed that the Joker had, too. She had thrown everything away to the darkest depths of her mind: every memory that survived the electroshock, every last piece of Harleen and what had happened during her growth to an adult woman. Her childhood, her teenage years, and everything in-between were gone, reduced to bleak fragments that only slipped through the cracks of her mind when she let her guard down.

Harley couldn't remember her parents' faces, but she could recall the street number she had lived on sometime long ago. It didn't matter - that was the joy with letting go of every thought, throwing them on her mental trash pile where they piled up. But if she dug long enough, she could find one or two pieces of intact, albeit faded information, glimmering among the junk.

She had no past and no future, only existing for the moment. Yet she knew that she had come somewhere from, and logically the Joker must too.

The citizens of Gotham thought that he had popped up out of nowhere, like a Jack in the Box. But sometimes she sensed the shadows of something else, someone else, behind that neon hair and wicked smile, all the tattoos that marked his victories. Someone who didn't even remember himself.

In his most unguarded moments she could catch brief glimpses of that other person. A part of her, that she knew he hated, couldn't help but analyze it.

It wasn't like a split part of his personality, like Harleen who still lived like a parasite in her mind and gave her unsolicited cooking advice and violent killing urges, no. He had completely merged into his current persona and there was not a _trace_ left of that other person now aside from _those moments_. Unlike her, who never managed to completely suffocate Harleen, the Joker never battled with someone else. She envied it and admired it at once.

At first, she had only seen the shadow of his other self in a few moments, when he was fast asleep and seemingly lost in his nightmares, or whatever tormented him at night when he held her so close she couldn't move an inch. Or when pushed her away and forbid her to come into the room, his forehead shiny with sweat, surrounded by his knives like substitutes for stuffed toys.

It had taken time to build that trust between them; and she had eagerly thrust it into his hands, while he remained passive, always testing her. Even in his sleep he seemed to be prepared for an attack, stashing weapons in more places than she could count.

When he was asleep, he was weaker, baring his throat. Because he allowed her to see him in those moments, she thought that she knew him completely.

She couldn't have been more wrong.

After the event at Gotham City News building, Harley eagerly waited for him to return. The blood-shed she had witnessed made her soul sing with anticipation. She went into their private floor on the top of the penthouse and changed clothes.

When he returned about two hours later, she was patiently lying in bed, wearing lingerie. He was usually not very receptive to her outfits, but she had put on her favorite one in black and red silk, hoping to get a reaction.

"Welcome back Puddin'!" she chirped before throwing herself onto him as soon as he entered the room. He responded with a growl, pushing her back against the wall. Hips against hips, she felt him harden as she wriggled. His hands were still covered in dried blood.

There were times when he was at his most vulnerable, when something else slipped through. That was in those few, tense moments when his guard was completely down. When his eyelids fluttered shut, his mouth opened slowly and she could feel his body tense up and his muscles start to shake from the strain. When he was coming undone inside of her, around her, moaning quietly into her ear, she knew that no one else had ever seen him this way in this life.

It was her secret, how her control of him set off that spark in her spine.

"Always so greedy," he grinned at her.

"Yeah," she snapped her jaw dangerously close to his face.

He had her panties off before she even registered it, then claimed her with one firm thrust. She wrapped her body around his with suffocating force that he just laughed off.

Harley turned her head upwards, seeking his lips aggressively. She wanted to devour him, make him melt into her, even as he was buried within her as deeply as he could possibly go. He pounded her against the wall and mumbled words into her ear, words that sent her gliding to the edge, skimming over it before coming back, _so close_.

Every time his rough fingers ran across her skin, she saw blue and white, clenching up around him until he grunted. She held onto him as if he was her sole anchor, as he braced both hands against the wall for leverage. His hips snapped into hers mercilessly.

She tightened her legs around his narrow hips in a silent demand. Her voice rose, she enjoyed making the henchmen uncomfortable with her loud wailing and moaning, raising her hands up to scratch his hair. His vocal response was immediate.

He pressed his lips against hers as if he was trying to suffocate her, before he hoisted her up. She suddenly felt a soft surface beneath her back.

She was lying on her back on the bed and he pounded into her, standing next to the edge, leaning over her. She inhaled to voice her pleasure, when she got a new idea. She always strove to please him as much as she could, find new ways to explore that tickling feeling of power in the palm of her hand.

As they were both approaching that sweet edge, she let her fingers wander across his back, as she often did. Then she continued down between his ass cheeks. She caressed those firm, round globes, feeling the soft skin, so unscarred compared to the rest of his body. Only a tall, faint scar against her palm on one side. She traced it down to his hip bone, then up again.

She let her fingers explore further, deep down between those cheeks. Before he realized it, she let her index finger trace his tight entrance and then dipped in.

In that second, something changed.

His reaction was immediate and not what she had expected. She felt a hard, stinging slap across her face that sent her head to the side, pressing into the sheets. Her entire face was burning. He had tensed up and withdrew from her.

A low growl sounded above her – it wasn't sexual, but feral. Like a wild dog escaping from its chains, setting its sights on her. She remained unmoving, her heart beating fast.

"... Puddin?"

She couldn't see his eyes or read his face. Cold disappointment settled in her stomach – didn't he wanna finish? She desperately tried to recall what invisible limit she just had crossed. She reached out in the dusk, but two cold hands grasped her wrists violently and almost broke them when they were forced down onto the sheets beside her. She was completely immobilized in his vice grip.

She held her breath; equal parts turned on and worried by his heavy breathing and silence. She was still dripping and eager to finish.

She saw his teeth glint in the darkness above, a feral smile. She rubbed her thighs impatiently together. That smile was more threatening than anything else she had seen, but she was feeling too empty inside to care. The tingling feeling spread across her lower back and she was about to beg him to _do something_.

He cut off her whine by harshly turning her around, pressing her chest into the bed. A moment later, he thrust inside of her again and pounded her hard, not caring about her pleasure anymore. He became more violent, tearing into her.

His hands gripped her arms tightly and she knew she would have bruises there by morning. He didn't say a word, only the occasional growl leaving him.

He soon came into her and withdrew quickly, leaving her empty and unsatisfied. A violent slam of a door made her realize he had left the room, the sound echoing into her ears. Warm fluids were running out of her, the only memory of what just had taken place.

She was cold and confused, and the memory of the scar left a nagging realization. Maybe she wasn't the only one who owned him.

.

.

.

Always the ridiculous questions. _Why did you do it? Why? Oh God, why?_

 _Hold on tight, here it comes: Because I can!_

 _HAHAHA!_

He stood upright, wiped blood from his face and let his tongue sweep past his teeth. They felt sharp, feral. He was the wolf, the shark on a mindless killing mission. A murder machine – ah, the height of humanity! With tense jaws eating through the prey's skin and muscles, feeling its death throes and dying muscle spasms into his core.

The final blow that put out all light. What a climax, what a mad crescendo!

He knew that somewhere, psychiatrists and news anchors alike were trying to _analyze_ him, plaster their useless reasoning onto him. He wasn't feeling generous anymore. Let them try all they might.

The GCN massacre was just that. For fun. Give them something to think about, and try the range of his favorite assault rifle.

Now when he kicked the corpse away from his feet, he felt relieved. Anything that had been weighing him down was gone, floating away into nothing. It reminded him of a very special event.

He recalled the first time Harley had acted on his demand. The act itself sent delicious tingles down his thighs for weeks afterwards. _Oh, the fire of my loins_. The image was burned onto his retina, a sweet memory to amuse himself with.

He had brought her to a semi-secluded location only days after their chemical dip, when she had come out of her senses properly. They were alone with a few men. No old mob bosses or pimps; no, these were young, in their early twenties. Civilians.

He had handed her his favorite hammer without a word. Then he leaned back to watch the show.

He would never forget how she acted when presented with those he had singled out as prey. They advanced on her to take her down, while he just watched. Three against one, one of them brought up a knife. They were sturdy men, taller than her.

At first he thought she only did it because he had told her to. To show her undying loyalty and mindless devotion for him. It was enough. She was eager to collect her reward, his insatiable vixen.

Somehow she overpowered them all without getting more than a scratch in her shirt. Seeing her bring the hammer down onto the last victim's temple, harder and harder, brought a smile to his face. She lacked the finesse, expert touch but it worked.

A sound like an egg being cracked was his favorite sound, when the skull gave in. Blood and tissue sprayed over her face and clothes, to which she seemed unaware. She brought the hammer down again, long after saliva, snot and blood and started running down the man's face in violent rivers.

Joker stared in fascination, his gaze focused on her face. Harley was smiling wildly. Enjoying every second of it, like a child in a playground.

Finally, when the man on the ground had stopped moving completely and was lying in a puddle of his own blood and feces, Harley straightened up. Her pink tongue darted out and licked brain substance off her plumps limps. Suddenly he wanted to feel them in his mouth, squash them between his teeth. _Oh, come to Daddy._

He approached her like a lion, hearing himself purr, irrevocably turned on. Their gazes met and that slightly electrical feeling ran through his body again, already addictive.

She was covered in blood, and she swept some strands of hair away from her face as she moved her hips in a way that mirrored his own. He grasped her chin with a cold hand, tilting her face upwards slightly. Her gaze remained focused, sparkling with excitement.

"Did I do good, Mistah J?" she breathed.

He grinned, as he pressed his hips onto hers, wordless domination. "Perfect."

"Did you see it?" he asked her.

"It's the color," she replied, leaning in as if she was intoxicated by his very presence. "Everything becomes that color. It's so… intense." Her eyelids fluttered shut with a smile and he couldn't stand it anymore.

He let go of her face and kissed her hard, pouring all of his wordless praise into her.

She put her arms around him and he felt the now warm steel of the hammer against his back. His perfect little murdering companion. He took her bottom lip between his teeth and groaned quietly as he sunk them into her soft skin, pressing his straining erection against her hips.

She was already in his bloodstream, and he intended to brand her.

.

Oh, Harley. The thought of her now made fury coarse through his system. She had crossed a limit.  
As if her touch had broken a barricade of something that had been carefully sealed away inside of him, it was harder to keep at bay.

A shadow of a voice threatened to break through the surface. No matter what he had wanted to do to her for awakening that, he found his feet taking him back to her. Hunting through the night, he was the wolf going back to the den.

" _Come on now. Smile for me!"_

* * *

 ** _To be continued. Make sure to review!_**


	3. Zero Below

_**Warning: Explicit content, more mentions of dub-con and non-con.**_

* * *

 **3\. Zero Below**

"There's a fine line between love and hate.  
And I don't mind.  
Just let me say that I like that  
I like that."  
 _The Diary of Jane - Breaking Benjamin_

* * *

"Puddin'." She lingered in the doorway, trying to find something to say that wouldn't set off a tantrum or further broaden the divide between them.

He wasn't looking at her; his gaze was focused on the new, even wider flat screen, where GCN was on. As if she was a mere annoyance that he tolerated enough to let live.

It tore at her heart and she decided to try again. Only wearing her favorite silky night gown, she walked over to the couch and stood silent next to him. He still paid her no mind.

She noticed an abundance of weapons surrounding him: knives were spread on the glass table in front of the couch and he wore his gun holster despite being in the penthouse. She had found at least two of his razors in the bed last night.

The past week Harley had tried to please him whenever she could without success. She was overcome with guilt at her overstep that night, when he had left in the middle of sex. Ever since then he had pushed her away in a way he had rarely done before; he was harsh and unrelenting when she begged him to please her, to let her make up for what she did, but he refused her touch. At night he would push her straight off the bed if she even attempted to snuggle up.

Harley missed his rough touches, his attention, those lingering looks he used to give her, like a lion waiting to pounce when she passed by.

She was determined to gain his trust back. The part of her that Harleen controlled had realized that his night terrors had a reason, even if he couldn't remember why. Even if he had pushed every memory into the far recesses of his mind it still stayed and tore at him. She knew she had helped him with that. During the extensive ECT at Arkham, she had shattered his last memories, even the ones he wanted to keep.

Slowly she sunk to her knees in front of him, trying to capture his gaze. "I'm sorry, Puddin'," she tried again. She carefully placed her hands on his thighs, feeling the expensive black fabric underneath her fingertips. He tensed up, but didn't move.

Finally he looked at her. She didn't recognize his gaze; it wasn't their usual hint of mutual understanding, an inside joke they shared. It wasn't the way he looked when he lusted for her or even had any sort of reaction to her behavior. She didn't know that look and it tore right through her heart. His blue eyes were not only cold and distant, but _strange_.

Suddenly she felt his hands in her hair. His fingers tightened and her heart fluttered. He chuckled quietly, an unsettling laughter that enveloped her in familiarity. _Finally._

"What's the matter, Harls?" He leaned forward, the sarcasm in his voice evident. "Can't leave me alone for one _second_?" He pushed her away so violently her scalp burned and let go of her.

She remained sitting on the floor, stubbornly staring at him. "No, I can't! This ain't my Puddin', this is just some sad guy that I don't even know! Snap out of it!"

He growled and stood up in one fluid motion, but she didn't back off. " _You_... really are testing me."

Her desperate attempts to get him to snap were vexing. Here she was again, crawling on all fours on the floor, begging him with her puppy eyes and the Joker couldn't stand it anymore. She was testing his patience with every move, every whine, every word of hers, those moist cherry lips. _To kill her or not to kill her._ To wrap a hand around her neck and steal her air away, just to let her go when her vision faded... his fingers itched.

He grasped her hair again and coaxed her closer. Harley leaned forward, so he pulled his cock out of his pants and thrust into her mouth. She was startled, but happy to finally be close to him again.

She seemed starved for him as he thrust into her warm mouth with no regard for her breathing. He was reaching his peak unusually quickly after the denied stimulation, but he couldn't find his pleasure high. Even as Harley was lapping at him and licking him like a hungry dog, making all the sounds she knew he liked, and presenting such alluring view of herself. Her moist tongue and teeth surrounded him completely.

She grasped his hips to steady herself as he thrust into her mouth, and when her fingers traced his skin, something came back to him. It caused him to grip her head tighter, not caring if she suffocated.

Her naughty hands started prowling over his skin again, between his cheeks, as if she couldn't resist. As if she was determined to win him over, to make him relax. This time he didn't stop her.

As always when he was in her warm, inviting mouth, his mind was set free. He remembered a taunting voice. " _Come on, smile. Smile!"_

His fingers tightened in her hair and his breathing got quicker. A memory of tearing pain inside, something dry, blood and spit running down his thighs, something forcing inside.

The thought caused him to jerk violently forward as his chest constricted. He instinctively leaned forward, pushing Harley into his crotch as he gasped for breath.

" _You're worthless if you can't smile. Come on, smile for me, my pretty boy!"_

His brain had long since lost all connections to that voice, what it had meant, and who it had belonged to. Only shattered images remained: cold, tiled walls and floors and the chattering of teeth, healthy teeth without a grill, and rich, dark brown hair, not discolored by acid, and a warmer skin tone without scars. A face that was so familiar he couldn't stand it, yet empty like a caricature. A broken mirror attached to the grey tiled wall and blood running out through the cracks. Bright red and yellow colors. A circus tent.

He blinked, then shut his eyes tight. He had missed that sensation of a hot poker inside his chest, spreading through every nerve ending.

He was brought back to reality by Harley's tentative finger in his entrance, prodding and poking. He tensed up but he couldn't help it; it felt good, the way she invaded him.

The next realization made the anger reach the boiling point. She had broken a rule. As her finger slipped inside his walls and touched him in a place he didn't know existed, the pleasure built up in the base of his cock.

He exploded inside her mouth, coming hard and breathing harshly while she eagerly swallowed, overexcited about being able to bring him to completion. His nails buried themselves in her scalp, making her whine slightly around his length.

Angrily, he tore away from her again. This time, the feeling of being violated didn't go away. Her face was streaked with his cum, but it made him feel nothing at all.

Harley was still on her knees, looking up at him. "What's wrong, Puddin'?"

Behind his eyelids a blurry movie was blasting. Like falling down into a tunnel - there was a face, distorted, that tricked him, slipping away.

He pulled Harley to her feet and roughly lifted her up, carrying her back to their bedroom. He threw her onto the bed with her stomach against the sheets. He saw her eyes lit up when he pulled up a thick leather belt with studs.

"Do your worst", she whispered. "I can take it."

There it was again. Harl _ee_ n. Qu _in_ zel. He ground his teeth as he pulled up her gray nightgown with one rough movement, then tied her wrists tightly together.

He pushed into her roughly from behind. His hands dug into her hips and pulled her closer, trying to soothe the feeling inside that had awakened when she touched him like that. She stretched out her arms and only whimpered as he tore dry into her.

No, Harley never complained. She would take anything he did to her with a smile. She was always _so good_.

His fingers tangled into her white-blonde tresses, stroking her head soothingly as his hips snapped into hers. She rubbed herself against him as much as her restrained position allowed, grasping the sheets with every moment.

She felt him pushing deeper into her core, pounding her down into the mattress. As he pushed, one of his hands found her clit and pinched. The pleasure between her legs intensified. She threw her head back, gasping, as her inner muscles clenched up hard around him. He grunted in reply. She felt him push one last time and then he came.

He slipped out of her and pulled his pants back up, then turned her around so she was facing him. He placed her in his lap.

"Little baby," he cooed throatily, supporting the back of her head with one hand.

She smiled faintly at him, eyes wide.

He tensed his jaw, before loosening the belt around her wrists. He slipped his hand between her folds, finding her wet. His fingers started rubbing her in circles, knowing her most sensitive spots like they were his own. Then he let two digits dip inside of her, groaning quietly at the feeling of her clenching up with all her might.

Harley's head pressed into his hand and she gasped. The feeling of his fingers inside while rubbing her spot caused a sensory overload. The orgasm came crashing down on her and she moaned out loud. Her back arched and she thrust her hips repeatedly against his firm hands.

He cooed darkly and his eyes had their usual expression again, a mad light burning in them again. " _Good girl_."

He withdrew his fingers, then his mouth was on her slick folds, pushing them apart to let his tongue tease the sensitive skin and the clit. Harley's hands rested on his head, stroking his hair softly. He licked her fluids and then pulled back. He placed her on the bed then stood up, turning to leave.

.

Harley knew that being with him wasn't always fun and games. It was harsh and unforgiving sometimes, when he was in his darkest moods and she couldn't find a way to help him. She would gladly do anything to keep his demons at bay and make him forget whatever was tormenting him at the moment, if only he would let her.

The following days the ice cracked and the distance started easing up between them. He whipped her ass hard with the belt and she took the bruises with a smile. Later on at night he came up to her as if he suddenly needed the contact. He let his hands run down her back, almost softly, as if to soothe her hurt skin.

He would be strangely tender sometimes and hold her close, and his fingers would find her clit and touch her. Even if she was too tired, he would stroke her until she came undone, arching her back and rubbing against his fingers and hand, and he wouldn't stop until he was sure that she had reached her climax. It was a frail balance, but she didn't mind.

She knew that she owned him completely, the way he would let her hold his head in her lap, how her fingers helped him slip out of a nightmare when they threaded through his hair, and how she could calm him down and edge him on with just a flash of a smile. The way she forced the darkness away just another day.

She had told him she could handle anything he threw at her, anything he subjected her to, and she had lasted.

She had told him from the beginning, that wherever he went she would follow. He was her home base; home was a place she had never known and he was all that.

In the dark, nursing her wounds, her entire body hurting from a rough day, he pulled her close and nothing else mattered. He was sleeping next to her and she pressed herself against his chest, feeling the slow breaths he took.

She would always be there for him.

* * *

 **A/N: I worked really hard on this and I would love to know what you think!**


	4. Paint It Black

**Author's note:** SS-verse, but could also take place in another version. I personally don't like the idea of SS Joker having a family before Harley, but it's up to your interpretation. Fluff.  
Inspired by a tumblr request: "Maybe J is having some Jack Napier family flashbacks and instead of acting out aggressively he wants affection."

* * *

 **4.** **Paint It Black**

"Promised I won't let them win  
But all their words pull me back in  
Fire, fire, I see red  
I hear voices in my head"  
 _\- Moio, Myah_

* * *

He wasn't a stranger to vivid hallucinations, nor imaginary mental images hitting him out of nowhere. In the constant blasting maniac state, they had to push their way forward, requesting audience, and if they were lucky they got a fraction of his attention. Finding unguarded moments, sneaking past the gates. One had been prominent lately.

If he gave in for a moment, he'd feel soft, brown hair between his fingers, stained with blood. An optimistic smile that grated his nerves, a calm demeanor, hands resting over a belly. It wasn't Harley, not at all like her, it lacked her electricity, her familiarity. A stranger's soft voice spoke to him.

 _I'd like green in the baby room. Like nature._ Her pearly, bouncing laughter. _What do you think, Jack? Help me hold these curtains! Come on, get over here! I found this cute baby mobile at Walmart -_

Fragments. Pieces. Normally they were stored somewhere where he would never have to look at them, they could have happened a lifetime ago, in another universe – black and white like an old movie.

The entire world was black, anyhow. Her shiny hair became soiled by blood when he recalled the image, a blood stain growing over her belly, her hands, her smile as she told him to get away from the mirror, stop practicing for a moment, and help her with the decorative " _it's a boy!_ " poster and all the other overzealous stuff she had bought at the mall. They couldn't really afford it, but she spared no effort.

Carefree. Careless, that's what she was.

 _Two cars had a frontal crash on the main street. The pregnant driver of the second car died instantly -_

It could have been a movie he watched once. Not very funny.

Joker stepped out of the shower, pulling on boxers and slacks, as a familiar sound reached him. He avoided his mirror image intently, seeing only a gray skeleton in the misty glass.

Stepping into the main area of their penthouse his eyes settled on Harley's excited form, as she poured an unhealthy amount of dog food into the hyenas' bowls before stuffing her phone and keys into her five-thousand-dollar purse he had gifted her with last week.

Her movements were the image of familiarity, calm in the middle of their chaos. Humming to herself as she lovingly patted the hyenas spreading food and slobber over the floor, before she noticed his presence.

"I'm gonna see Red for a while! Bye, Puddin'! See ya later!" She was heading towards the door after blowing him a kiss, she was a whirlpool on high heels, the fluttering of her red lace-up dress and blonde locks.

Without thinking, he stepped closer to her. His hands caught her and gripped her waist, pulling her into his chest. Even with her back against him, he felt her confusion. He placed his chin on top of her shoulder for a moment, his grip around her softening.

"Mistah J?" She turned around, red lips smiling softly at him.

Not bothering to reply, he just held her close, feeling the overwhelming, almost nauseating smell of perfume; flowers and glitter and something metallic. It was the only scent he ever wanted to feel.

"I love you, J." She wrapped both arms around his neck, pushing his lanky body up against the wall with the force of her hips and thighs. "And I swear I won't let ya go around hurting like this."

Her subservient nature, the urge to make everything right for him, always, had once annoyed him more than anything. He truly craved it now, being soothed by her hands and words. She reached up and he pressed a kiss to her mouth, closing his eyes for a moment.

He allowed himself to sink into her embrace, letting his defenses down. In his mind, another woman's blurry face faded to nothing, along with the colors.

She was the blackness of the world turned into a fierce red, mismatched with vivid pink and intense blue.

x x

He was having a moment again. She watched his world break down without a sound, saw the sweat pouring down his face, knowing he was captured by those voices and images from a foggy realm. Breathing heavily, staring at something far away, trying to save himself. He never let her in to that inner world of his. It was just him, alone with something she couldn't even fathom.

She wanted to help him so desperately, chase it away for him, she would do anything to help him clear the fog. It was unavoidable, whatever was living in his mind would eat its way through the cracks and surround him every so often.

Harley knew she threaded on thin ice being so close; he might mistake her for one of the shadows if she made one wrong move, and end up with a knife in her thigh. It had happened before, and he wouldn't realize what happened until she was weak from blood loss, staining his shirt when he angrily pulled her close.

The voices in her head went silent just to accommodate to his, to give her room to think. If she started crying in sympathy, he would curl his hand around her throat and not let go, so she acted tough like he would expect her to. Like he _needed_ her to.

His Harley never wavered, she did not need protection, she did not need to be saved. But she'd like to save him sometimes. It's the part of her that he hated. She would still stand by his side, the queen to the king. She would keep the composure, she would smile for them both on bad days.

She was his girl, the one and only, she was the empress, and she would be strong for him when he couldn't.

Looking into those swirling dark eyes, she saw the endless madness churning within. He grabbed a hold of her arm as if unaware of it. Simply keeping her as a pillar to lean on, among the shadows that crept up behind him. His grip was tight, as if she was his only connection to what he called reality.

Harley wouldn't kneel for him, not this time, she wouldn't cry in sympathy for his pain, she simply looked into his eyes. She wouldn't look away until he breaks eye contact. His grip on her arm tightens, and she won't give in.

She waited until he grabbed onto her with both arms, as if he wanted to shake her or strangle her but the strength faltered from his arms.

A thud reached her ears when he fell to his knees.

She forced back the instinct to stroke his messy hair, knowing she was not allowed to right then. In another situation she would pull it, scrape with her nails the way he liked it, but not right then.

He held onto her, smearing something wet on the front of her dress. He reminded her of a child sometimes, broken on the inside, a ravaging monster some days, but always the same man she fell for. If she were to go away, his grip of reality would shatter completely.

Once she did leave him, after a fight. She had been away for a week when he came barging in to the bar where she stayed, looking like a boy in need of his mommy, offering her the world again. Slurry, high and tipsy and paving the way with everyone who had ever wronged her. She had let him carry her out of that place, happy about being back where she needed to be. He had kissed her that time, in a way she still remembered sent shivers down her body. They were both smeared with makeup and rain and dirt and blood from a guy she had beaten up.

And he was hers, always. His crouched form in front of her was her sole comfort. The smell of gunpowder and musk calmed her aching chest, just as she knew her perfume and the smell of her shampoo was familiar to him, another thing to help him find his way back.

Together they were one entity, two parts of a whole. She knew, with his arms around her middle, holding her too tight, that she wouldn't have it any other way. When this passed, he would act like nothing happened, but none of them would forget.

She would protect him from himself.


End file.
